


I'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

by Buttercup_ghost



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: ??????? - Freeform, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Cannibalism, During Despair, Dysfunctional Relationships, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, Mild Sexual Content, Murder, Past Abuse, There's not any explicted sexual stuff really btw, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, everyones just a weeee bit fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-18 14:59:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10619349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttercup_ghost/pseuds/Buttercup_ghost
Summary: or i did last time i checked.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The nanamiki, izuru/komaeda, and hinananimi and izuru/chiaki are only implied and are past relationships, and the komahina is implied as well, but isn't a past one

You love her. You love her you love her you _love her._ You love her so much it _hurts_. And she is so pretty, with her red nails that dig into your flesh, and you love it, you love the sting because it means that she's _still here,_ _with_ _you_. Even when she hurts a you, you love her, love her so much. The sting of her lips is just her appeal.

Because you know it's better than silence.

 

 

She smiles at you, and he's frowning, scowling at nothing it seems. You ignore him; it's not important. _Nothing_ is important compared to her. There's blood on your hands and it's **exciting** , it's exciting to know _you_ did this, that you had the power to end their pathetic life. And she's _smiling_ at you, she's so proud, and that's all that matters.

Komaeda cleans up the body as your hand interlaces with hers, still with that funny expression on his face.

 

Later, she pulls him into a kiss and he has the audacity to look disgusted, yet he kisses back. Now you're the one glaring.

  
She broke her promise. Really, it's.. _despairing_. And you love her, even more, because you know that the more despair she brings upon you the more she _loves_ you, and all you've ever wanted in your life was to be loved. But even still, you can't help but sob, a sickening smile on your face as you watch her press the button to her demise herself.

She _promised_ she'd make it back alive.

She knew she wouldn't.

 

 

When you get there he's trying to sew her hand on him.

His arm is gone, cauterized in a way that must have been agony, but he's smiling, wide, panting, drooling. A few stitches are in, but not much, and you sit down next to him quietly, putting your medical supplies next to you, taking his arm in your hand.

You sew it up, tugging a bit rougher than necessary just to get a reaction, to see his eyes dilate, see the blush spread on his face, but you finish without much happening, eventually.

When you grab your scalpel, stepping away from him and to her ransacked body, he waits quietly.

 

 

  
You love her, so you become one with her, cooking her flesh over a fire. You think this is something teruteru would do, but you push the thought away, you hate him. When you found her body there was evidence of someone trying to.. impregnate her body, and you hate it. You're sure it's him, he always wanted what he couldn't have, didn't deserve, and you hate him. How dare he do that to her, if _anyone_ deserved her baby it was _**you**_ , not him. You plan of gouging out his eyeballs, next time you see him, so he never can lay eyes on your beloved's body again.

Or maybe you should chop off his dick.  
  
You decide to do both.

 **[** _Next time you see him, you don't remember any of this, so unfortunately you can't make good on your promise. Damn_. **]**

 

 

 

You caress her hand, nails digging into her pale cold flesh, and though you love her, sometimes you hate her too. You're drowning in despair and hope and you laugh, you laugh because you don't care, you laugh because it's both, you laugh because it's _love_ , some uncanny thing on the edge. And she wanted you to despair, so you do, and he wanted you to hope, so you do.

You _love_.

 

 

 

 

You sat on the bed, smiling, tilting your head ever so slightly.

It doesn't matter why you're here, what you're doing, _who_ you are. Not in this moment.

He looks up at you in something a mix of pity and admiration, and you stand, taking his head and tilting it up so your eyes could met.

In this moment there's nothing but rawness, no hope, no despair; nothing.

Youre not sure if there's even love.

~~You're not sure you truly know what love is anymore.~~

And so your hands find their way around his neck, as he smirks, as if daring you to tighten them.

So you do, feeling his beating pulse beneath your finger, tightening as if you could squeeze out the despair infecting both of your each and every bone, steal his oxygen and his heart, but you can't.

Because you still love her.

And you hate it, so you squeeze and squeeze and _squeeze._

You can feel him writhing beneath your hands and it's _**exhilarating**_ because no one else has _bowed_ to you like this, as if you were a _missah_ , a _queen_ , and you love it.

Crave it.

Because you have a taste of control now, power thrumming in your veins as you smile, a daze smile, maybe others might be scared of such a smile but the one caving under your hands just moans more.

You still love her, but you think in this moment it doesn't matter.

He hates her, adores her, and you _understand_ that.

She _saved_ you.

She _damned_ you.

Both of you.

  
And so you mash your lips together, bite bite _bite_ until he's gasping out your name because you _need_ this.

You both do.

 

 

 

  
You wonder if you love him.

 

 **[** _Later, you say, “You don't understand? Is it because you have nobody to love you? Is it because you're also someone who isn't accepted by anyone? ...what a pity. I feel sorry for you.”  
And you find you mean it. Because you understand him. You know what he doesn't; about that reserve course student chiaki loved so much—more than you, she could never love you like you loved her—about kamukura. And so you hurt him, digging a knife in with your parting words, just like she taught you_. **]**

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song 505 by attic monkeys
> 
> Happy birthday komaeda, here's your present, suffering


End file.
